


A Fire Darkened

by excelgesis



Series: Empire of Ashes (a markhyuck royalty au) [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Class Differences, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Prince!Mark, Princes, Servants, more spicy royalty au markhyuck to feed ur souls?, servant!donghyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17820869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelgesis/pseuds/excelgesis
Summary: “That’s absurd.” Donghyuck’s voice is soft as feathers. He turns his eyes toward the ceiling. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful than this?”Mark is sure that he has. Donghyuck, with the high collar of his uniform contrasting against his pretty skin and starlight shining in his eyes – he’s infinitely more breathtaking.[sequel to "A Fire Repeated"]





	A Fire Darkened

**Author's Note:**

> hello markhyuck nation, it's me, your local nctzen who likes to wax poetic about how beautiful donghyuck is
> 
> ummmm so i'm here because a lot of people requested a sequel to my markhyuck royalty au (you guys are so sweet i've been crying for days) so... /john mulaney voice/ you want it? go get it! 
> 
> special thanks to nite (my lovely garlic child) for beta reading this and screaming with me about nct

               There’s a knock at the door, loud and demanding, and Mark’s fingers still against Donghyuck’s bare waist.

               Donghyuck’s entire body goes rigid. “Who is that?” He breathes.

               Mark tries to think, his brain cloudy with a desire so strong he feels breathless, but he doesn’t have time to come to a conclusion before the door creaks open and Lucas leans inside.

               “Your highness? Is everything--” It’s abruptly cut off, and Lucas looks as if he’s been struck in the chest. His eyes are round as dinner plates as he takes a step backward. “I-I’m sorry, your highness, I didn’t mean—I was just checking--” He takes another step backward and lets the door close behind him.

               Donghyuck bolts upright. His cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink Mark has ever seen, but his eyes are alight with panic. “I knew this was wrong,” he gasps, shoving at Mark’s shoulders with firm hands. “Is this what you wanted? Was this your plan all along?”

               Mark topples from Donghyuck’s lap. His heart is beating like a war drum in his throat and he feels dizzy. His fingers curl into the sheets and he watches as Donghyuck scrambles off the bed and hastily pulls his shirt back on. Lucas had seen—Lucas had _seen_ —

               “They’ll have my head for this,” Donghyuck hisses. “The king and queen. This is your fault; this is _entirely_ your fault.” The fire is back in his eyes, but the color is draining from his face in the watery gray light of post-sunset. “Did you plan this? Are you out to sabotage me?”

               “Donghyuck,” Mark whispers, “why would you even consider--”

               “I knew it was wrong.” Donghyuck shakes his head. “The Empire’s prince and a _servant_ ” – the word comes out like an expletive – “it’s preposterous. I knew it was.”

               It’s like ice down Mark’s spine, cold and sharp. “This has nothing to do with any of that.” He slides from the bed and reaches for Donghyuck’s wrist, but he flinches back and glares at Mark through his lashes. “Donghyuck, I _want_ this. I-I _need this_.”

               Donghyuck shakes his head again and moves several steps backward. “Perhaps it’s time you learned how it feels to not receive everything you want.” He moves toward the door, and Mark yearns to reach for him more than he’s ever yearned for anything. “You’ve doomed me, _your highness._ Congratulations.” It comes out as an unsteady whisper before he turns and runs out the door, head bent low and fingers balled into fists.

               Mark tries to run after him, his heart lodged in his throat, but Lucas grabs his bare forearm before he can make it down the corridor.

               “Your highness.”

               “Lucas, please.” It’s strangled and thin, and Mark realizes he has tears building along his lashes for the first time in years. “Please, Lucas, don’t tell anyone, _please_.”

               Lucas’s face is creased with worry and something else Mark can’t place. “Your highness, I’m concerned--”

               He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m begging you, I’m _begging._ I’ll grovel if that’s what you want, but you know he’ll get hurt if my parents hear about it and I can’t bear that, I really can’t--”

               “Your highness, calm down.” Lucas’s voice is soft, the same voice he uses when Mark sneaks out at night and he promises not to tell. “I can keep it from your parents if that’s what you wish.”

               Mark feels faint with relief. “Thank you,” he breathes.

               Lucas’s brows furrow over dark eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this, your highness. I worry about what this servant is doing to you.”

               Mark swallows. His dress shirt and waistcoat are still lying on the floor, and the stagnant air of the corridor chills him down to his bones. “I worry, too.”  

♕

               Lunch the next day is an awkward affair.

               Donghyuck keeps his eyes glued to the table as he serves them food and drink. He refuses to look Mark in the eye, but Mark remembers the way he moaned against his mouth and his fingers tighten around his fork.

               “You’re flushed, Mark,” his father comments. “Have you come down with a fever?”

               Mark clears his throat. “I’m fine, father. I just…didn’t get much sleep last night.”

               Beside him, Donghyuck makes a strangled noise that devolves into a fit of coughing. The queen shoots him an icy glare before ordering him to leave the room.

               “I’ve about had it with that one,” she says with a dark frown. “How much did we pay for him?”

               “About 1,500 silver,” the king replies offhandedly.

               The queen snorts. “That’s meager, and he’s already outlived his worth.”

               The words hit Mark like a blow to the chest. _1,500 silver?_ Was Donghyuck really—

               “Excuse me,” he says, pushing his chair back from the table, “I think I’ve eaten enough.”

               His father raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as Mark darts from the dining hall. He has the route to the kitchens mapped in his mind, and he’s pushing open the door before he knows what he wants to say.

               Donghyuck is there, tousled hair and honey skin reflecting the firelight, and Mark is sure he’s the most breathtaking person he’s ever seen. Donghyuck glances up at the sound of the door opening and his gaze turns cold as iron. “I don’t think you have any business here.”

               There’s a servant girl kneading bread dough next to him, and she stares at him in shock before flicking her eyes toward Mark. “Donghyuck, that’s the _prince_ ,” she hisses.

               “I’m aware,” he replies sardonically. His eyes travel from Mark’s polished shoes up to his styled hair before he speaks again. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” At this angle, Mark can see the ghost of a bruise just underneath his shirt collar, and he remembers the way Donghyuck arched against him, gasping as Mark grazed his teeth along the skin—

               He swallows. “Can I talk to you?”

               “I believe we’re talking right now.”

               The servant girl gasps. “ _Donghyuck_.”

               Mark waves a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, can we just…speak in private, please?”

               Donghyuck raises a brow. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

               “I asked politely.” Mark can feel his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I can make it a royal demand, if you’d like.”

               Donghyuck rolls his eyes, and it’s honestly infuriating, but the anger roiling in Mark’s blood is easily eclipsed by the memory of Donghyuck’s lips on his, the taste of his skin on his tongue— “Tell me where and when, _your highness_.”

               “Right now.” Mark gestures to the open door and Donghyuck purses his lips before leaving the room. Mark follows and lets the door slam shut behind him. They walk until they reach an empty corridor, lit only by a single flickering torch, and Donghyuck crosses his arms over his chest.

               “What?” His tone is steel and ice.

               It rushes out before Mark has a chance to think. “Did your family sell you into servitude?”

               Donghyuck’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

               “A-At lunch, just now…” Mark takes a breath. “I heard my parents say they paid 1,500 silver for you. Did… Did they bribe your family into sending you here?”

               _“1,500 silver?”_ It explodes like cannon fire, and Donghyuck has his fists tugging harshly on the lapels of Mark’s tailcoat. “Your father promised my family _five times_ that much! I should have known he’d cheat them, the fucking _bastard--”_

Mark’s blood runs cold. “They sold you?” He whispers.

               “I volunteered,” Donghyuck hisses. “Some of us have to go to extreme lengths to ensure our family’s survival.”

               Mark staggers backward and Donghyuck drops his hold on his tailcoat. He had heard of this happening before, in lands far from theirs with barbaric customs and unjust rulers, but to exchange money for a human life, right here in their empire—He feels an intense nausea rise to the surface. “I can’t stand for this.”

               Donghyuck snorts. “Didn’t I tell you to stop feigning--”

               “And didn’t I tell you I’m not feigning anything?” He takes a step closer, and Donghyuck stumbles against the corridor’s stone wall. Mark reaches for his shirt collar, tugging it down until he can fully see the bruise his teeth had left. “I think I proved that quite well, didn’t I?”

               “Until your guard so _conveniently_ interrupted,” Donghyuck spits out, yanking Mark’s hand away from his collar. “Am I truly supposed to believe that was just a case of poor timing?”

               “ _Yes_ ,” Mark replies in earnest. His hands move to Donghyuck’s shoulders, and this time he doesn’t push them away. “Would I really risk everything: my power, my family, my status—would I risk that if I didn’t think you were worth it?”

               There’s a beat of silence. Donghyuck turns his head to the side. “You hardly know my worth, your highness.” He pushes Mark back with a touch that feels surprisingly gentle, but that has Mark stumbling nonetheless. Without a backward glance, Donghyuck heads back to the kitchens, leaving Mark alone in the drafty corridor with nothing but a flickering torch.

♕

               He’s awoken the next morning by a tentative knock on the door, and he pulls it open to reveal a petite servant girl holding what looks to be a new tailored tailcoat. His first emotion is a disappointment that burns as sharp as a brand. Disappointment that it isn’t Donghyuck with his fiery eyes and golden skin—He swallows against the thought and lets confusion take its place. “I don’t remember ordering a new coat.”

               The girl averts her eyes. “His majesty ordered it for you, your highness. For the ball tonight.”

               Mark blinks. “That’s tonight?”

               The servant nods.

               Mark takes the tailcoat from her and lays it across the duvet. His father had spoken about the ball nearly a fortnight ago, but it had slipped his mind as easily as water escapes a sieve. He stares at the clothing in dismay and wonders how he’ll possibly face his people with the knowledge he now has about their empire. Silver in exchange for servants, no aid for the drought wreaking havoc in the South—

               The servant girl clears her throat quietly. “Your highness?”

               Mark spins around, fingers splayed against the silk sheets behind him. “I’m sorry. Feel free to leave, uh…” He raises a brow.

               She tilts her head in response. “Yes?”

               “Your name. I don’t think I ever got your name.”

               She blinks and her eyes flicker toward the floor. “It’s Gahyeon,” she says softly.

               “Gahyeon.” Mark gestures toward the coat. “Thank you for delivering this. You’re free to go.” He watches as she leaves and tries not to think about how much his family paid for her.

♕

               The sun is low on the horizon when he slips into his new tailcoat. It’s a sky-blue that he assumes is pretty, trimmed in silver with a cream-colored waistcoat to match. But with the Empire’s crest emblazoned on the back and a heavy silver crown nestled in his hair, he feels like an impostor. He wants to tear it to shreds, tear off every miniscule thing that ever made him question himself, tear off his very skin until each truth is laid bare in his bones—but instead he shuts the bedroom door behind him and heads to the palace ballroom.

               It’s already teeming with activity, bodies in colorful silks swirling around one another like exotic fish, and there’s delicate music drifting from a grand piano in the corner. The massive chandelier drips candlelight onto the polished floor, and through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows Mark can just make out the fuzzy shadows of the palace rose garden. It’s a warm atmosphere, inviting and hospitable, but Mark feels unease from his fingers to his toes.

               The guests bow to him as he enters the room, and he acknowledges them with nods and forced smiles. He sees his parents on a raised dais near the piano, speaking softly to the head of the Northeastern consulate. He drops his eyes to the marble floor and pushes through the crowd.

               “Your highness.” It’s a soft voice, demure and gentle, and he looks up to see a girl with a glass of wine in her hand. She glances at him through thick lashes. Her hair tumbles in a dark cascade down to her waist, and it’s held back from her face by delicate golden pins shaped like leaves. “Would you care to dance?”

               He recognizes her as the daughter of a Western magistrate, but he can’t remember her name and he certainly would not like to dance. He opens his mouth to formulate a half-hearted excuse when he catches his mother’s eye from across the room. She raises a delicate brow and nods almost imperceptibly, and Mark knows he can’t refuse. He holds out his hand and resigns himself to one dance.

               A servant walks by with a silver tray of half-filled glasses, and the girl sets her drink onto it without a second glance. Mark notices that the servants have dressed up for the ball as well – stark white jackets with high collars and gold braided trim – and he wonders how Donghyuck would look, all honey skin and tawny hair and golden accents—

               “Your highness, I’m waiting.”

               Mark shakes his head and places a hand on the girl’s waist. A new number begins to spill from the piano, and they twirl across the room in tight circles. Mark has been practicing ballroom dance since he could walk, and it’s now easy as breathing. He lets his mind wander, eyes flitting from face to regal face as he moves.

               “You seem distracted tonight,” the girl muses. The lilac of her dress shimmers in the candlelight. “Has someone else piqued your interest in the time we’ve been apart?”

               Mark blinks, but he feels as if he’s watching the entire affair from a place outside his body. The last ball had been months ago, and he racks his brain for any recollection—a chaste kiss on the hand, a walk in the moonlit gardens, a promise to meet again – but he had done those things with multiple girls in one night and can’t seem to reconcile her face with anyone in particular. He clears his throat and lies as smoothly as he can, “Of course not.”

               She hums under her breath, and they continue to spin across the floor. Her gaze is fixed on a point over his shoulder, and she cocks her head to one side. “There’s a servant over there who seems to be quite fixated on us,” she says softly. “You should get rid of him if he’s not doing his job properly.”

               Mark glances over his shoulder and feels the air leave the room. Donghyuck is there, and he’s a thousand times more radiant than he could have imagined. The gold braid of his uniform highlights his skin, his hair, his eyes—it’s like staring into the midst of a flame, and Mark wants so badly to be burned. He stumbles over his own feet and the girl yelps in surprise.

               “Your highness, are you alright?”

               Mark swallows and takes a step back. “I-I have to go. Thank you—for the dance.” He inclines his head in a poor impersonation of a bow and heads toward the side of the room.

               Donghyuck’s eyes are on him, his gaze like molten lead, and the ballroom is suddenly too hot. The air turns stale, his knees go weak, he remembers Donghyuck’s breath on his neck—

               “Do you need something, your highness?” It’s cold and short, and Donghyuck fixes his eyes on the opposite bank of windows.

               “I… I noticed you staring.”

               Donghyuck snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s mere curiosity.”

               “What are you curious about?” Mark takes a step closer and watches as Donghyuck’s eyes flicker toward him for a fraction of a second. Mark’s breath hitches in his throat, and his fingers itch to tangle themselves in his hair.

               “That girl.” Donghyuck nods toward the magistrate’s daughter. “Do you like her?”

               Mark pauses. “I hardly know her.”

               “She seems fond of you.”

               “Then I feel sorry for her.”

               Donghyuck turns fully toward Mark then, eyebrows raised and eyes glittering in the light from the chandelier. “Why is that?”

               “Because I’m fond of someone else,” Mark says softly.

               He watches as Donghyuck swallows and averts his eyes. “As I’ve noticed.”

               And he wants to know, suddenly, what goes on behind those fiery irises. What Donghyuck likes and dislikes, what he loves and hates, what makes him beg for more in that pretty, breathy voice— “Can I show you something?”

               A beat of silence. “That depends on what it is.”

               He reaches for Donghyuck’s sleeve. “I want to take you somewhere.”

               “The prince shouldn’t leave in the middle of a ball,” Donghyuck says stiffly.

               “I’m aware of what I should and shouldn’t be doing,” Mark retorts, letting his hand fall to Donghyuck’s waist. “I just don’t care.” With that, he pushes open the ballroom door and heads out into the entryway. After several seconds, Donghyuck follows, closing the door softly behind him before glancing in both directions.

               “If this is a trap, I swear I’ll--”

               Mark rushes forward and places a finger against Donghyuck’s lips. “Be quiet and trust me.”

               Donghyuck scowls. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

               “My guard promised to keep this a secret,” Mark murmurs, letting his finger trail across Donghyuck’s bottom lip. “If I were out to sabotage you, don’t you think you would have been banished by now?”

               Donghyuck opens his mouth to respond, but then his eyes flicker down to Mark’s hand on his lips and he seems to think better of it. Mark takes that as a positive sign and reaches for his wrist, pulling him across the entryway and down a secluded corridor. Flickering torches throw dancing shadows along the walls, and he hears Donghyuck stumble behind him in the meager light. Mark’s fingers thread through Donghyuck’s instinctively, and he holds onto his hand as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Donghyuck’s fingers go slack for the briefest of instants, and Mark wonders if he’s done something wrong, but then Donghyuck lets out the softest sigh and he tightens his grip on Mark’s hand.

               The light has dissipated now, the corridor narrows, and Mark reaches ahead blindly for the door he knows is there. It’s an old servant’s entrance, abandoned years ago, and he lets out a breath of relief when his hand makes contact with the weathered wood. The door swings open on creaky hinges and he pulls Donghyuck outside.

               The moon is a crescent painted against the night sky, and the stars are pinpricks of light in the inky blackness, washing the palace rose gardens in liquid silver. The plants soak up the moonlight, pinks and whites and reds dripping with it, and he hears Donghyuck’s soft intake of breath.

               “What… what are we doing out here?”

               Mark turns toward him and feels instantly faint. He’s _so beautiful_ , the whites and golds of his uniform drenched in silver, his eyes bright and his lips parted and his hand so warm in his— “I wanted to show you something,” Mark breathes. “Remember?”

               Donghyuck takes a step backward, but his eyes never leave Mark’s face. “What if we’re caught out here?”

               “We won’t be.” Mark pulls him forward until their bodies are pressed flush, his lips only centimeters from Donghyuck’s, and he watches as Donghyuck’s eyes flutter closed.

               It’s as if everything freezes, falling rose petals suspended in midair as Donghyuck breathes against his mouth, and there’s a desire in Mark’s chest that’s so strong he wants to cry. He leans forward a fraction of an inch, lets his eyes slip closed, and presses his lips to Donghyuck’s as gently as he can. It’s soft and chaste, but he feels Donghyuck’s hand tighten in his before he pulls away.

               “You can trust me,” Mark whispers. “I can promise you that.”

               They continue through the rose garden, Mark’s feet easily navigating the manicured paths, until they reach the looming hedge that marks the garden’s end.

               “It’s just through here,” Mark murmurs. He tugs Donghyuck to the hedge’s farthest edge and slips through an opening choked with vines. Donghyuck follows and stops short when he reaches the other side.

               It’s just as Mark remembers it: a sprawling conservatory that could easily fill the palace ballroom, with thousands of plants blooming against the glass walls. The stars are reflected in the domed ceiling like a cascade of tiny diamonds. He gives Donghyuck an encouraging glance before pulling open the door and stepping inside.

               “This is…” Donghyuck breathes. He seems at a loss for words, stopping short just inside the entrance with awe painted across his pretty features.

               “My father had this built for my mother after they married,” Mark explains. The air inside is warm, heavy and humid like a blanket on his shoulders, and the plants stretch toward the stars in elegant curves. “But she never liked it. It took over a year to construct, and she set foot inside once and said that if this was the best the kingdom could provide, she’d rather not be queen.”

               “That’s absurd.” Donghyuck’s voice is soft as feathers. He turns his eyes toward the ceiling. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful than this?”

               Mark is sure that he has. Donghyuck, with the high collar of his uniform contrasting against his pretty skin and starlight shining in his eyes – he’s infinitely more breathtaking. “Donghyuck,” he whispers.

               Donghyuck drops his gaze to Mark’s.

               “Can I ask you something?”

               A pause. “Go ahead.”

               “Why did you leave your family?”

               Donghyuck blinks, and there’s something trapped in his eyes that Mark has never seen before – an ache, a desperation that cracks his heart into pieces. “That… That’s not your business.”

               “Donghyuck.” Mark takes a step closer and lets his fingers trail over the bruise on his cheek. “You can trust me.”

               Donghyuck’s eyes slip closed again, and his resulting exhale is shaky and soft. “I had to leave,” he whispers.

               “Why?”

               “I’m the only one in my family who’s able to work.” He pulls his hand from Mark’s grasp. “My sisters are too young and my mother is ill. I had a stall set up at the market, but after the drought…” It trails off into a heavy silence.

               There’s a bitter taste on the back of Mark’s tongue when he asks, “What happened?”

               He notices Donghyuck’s fingers curl into fists. “The crops failed. The nomads attacked and…” He swallows. “We had no food. I… I tried to get work as an apprentice to the blacksmith, but he… He was a violent man.”

               Mark’s blood turns to ice. “Did he hurt you?”

               “Only a few times,” he whispers.

               And Mark’s heart breaks, shattering into a million pieces that spill across the floor like bits of glass. He imagines himself, sitting in plush armchairs with servants at his beck and call while Donghyuck was beaten by a faceless man—There’s guilt, strong and acidic, mixed with a sorrow so profound he feels his eyes burn with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, reaching for Donghyuck’s jacket and pulling him forward. He wraps his arms tight around his waist, and Donghyuck hesitates before resting his head on Mark’s shoulder.

               “When the court came looking for servants, I… I couldn’t refuse, I couldn’t do that to my family. They promised so much money… It would have supported my mother and sisters for years--” It ends in a choked sound, and Mark realizes with horror that Donghyuck is crying. “But if your father cheated them… If they only got 1,500 silver…” His fingers dig into Mark’s tailcoat. “It wasn’t even worth it.”

               Mark draws in a shaky breath. The anger makes his heart race and his stomach twist. He takes a step back and tilts Donghyuck’s face toward him with an index finger under his chin. And he’s still so pretty like this, with tears trailing bright as stars across his cheeks. Mark’s heart ends up in his throat and he wipes the tears away with shaking fingertips. “I’ll fix this,” he breathes. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

               “You’ve made an awful lot of promises tonight,” Donghyuck whispers.

               “And I intend to keep every one.”

               Donghyuck’s eyes drop to Mark’s lips so briefly that he thinks he must have imagined it. “Why? Why would you do any of that for me?”

               Mark pauses with his hands on either side of Donghyuck’s face. _Why, indeed._ To see him smile, perhaps. To take the pain from his eyes and turn it into something beautiful, something worthy of being on that gorgeous face. To know that for once, for the first time in his life, he had done something worthwhile. Something valuable. Something brave. “I want to be as strong as you are,” Mark says softly. “I’ve spent my life in idle laziness, and you deserve better than that. Your family deserves better than that. You’ve done so much—but what have I done?”

               Donghyuck blinks, slow as thick honey in the moonlight. “Your highness…”

               He shakes his head and threads his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair. “Call me Mark. Please. I don’t… I don’t care for that title between us. It means nothing if I haven’t earned it.”

               Donghyuck’s eyes flicker to Mark’s lips again, and this time they stay there. “Mark,” he breathes, and the sound of his name on Donghyuck’s tongue turns Mark’s knees to water.

               The tension is thick, hanging in the humid air from a rapidly fraying thread, and the desire Mark feels is worlds different from the day prior. It’s a steady thing, soft around the edges and filling the space from his fingers to his toes. Where yesterday was alcohol meeting a lit match, today is lantern flame, delicate and purposeful and sure.

               “If you don’t want this,” Mark whispers, pressing his lips to the space under Donghyuck’s ear, “please tell me.”

               Donghyuck lets out a soft sigh. “I want this more than I should.” He tilts his head back and buries his fingers in the fabric of Mark’s tailcoat.

               Mark drags his lips lower and lower, until they reach the edge of Donghyuck’s gilded collar. He pushes it down with gentle hands, but Donghyuck is already unfastening the buttons and slipping the jacket from his shoulders. There’s a dress shirt underneath – silk with a loose neckline – and Mark presses his fingers to the string of bruises littering Donghyuck’s collarbone. “Do these hurt?”

               There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Barely.”

               Mark hums against his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

               Donghyuck shivers, and his fingers move to tangle in Mark’s hair. “You won’t.”

               Mark laves his tongue over the bruises, gentle and slow, and he feels Donghyuck tug at his hair.

               “Mark--” It’s a soft whimper, barely there, and Mark feels lightning crawl down his spine.

               “Yes?”

               “Please kiss me,” Donghyuck gasps, and so he does.

               It takes only seconds for Donghyuck to lick into his mouth, and Mark feels his legs go weak. He moans into the kiss, his hands stealing under the hem of Donghyuck’s shirt, and he feels goosebumps follow the trail of his fingers. There’s a sudden sting as Donghyuck catches Mark’s lower lip between his pearly teeth, and Mark’s resulting gasp is louder than he intends it to be. He wants Donghyuck’s hands on him – wants his hands _everywhere_ – so he shrugs off his tailcoat and lets it fall to the floor. The waistcoat is next, followed by his silk dress shirt, and he’s tugging Donghyuck’s shirt up and over his head before he stops to think about it.

               “Is this okay?” Mark whispers against his lips, fingernails digging into Donghyuck’s waist.

               “Yes,” Donghyuck whines. He presses his body against Mark’s and rolls his hips forward, burying his face in Mark’s neck when his breath comes out in shaky gasps. “It’s… it’s not enough.”

               Desire coils hot in the pit of Mark’s stomach, and he rakes his fingernails down Donghyuck’s back. “Tell me what you want.” The words are breathy and broken on his tongue.

               “You.” Donghyuck’s lithe fingers are undoing the clasp of Mark’s trousers. “This.” The pants fall to the floor with a rustle that has Mark shaking. “ _Everything_.” He’s biting at Mark’s collarbone, whimpering against the skin with his fingers hot on his hipbones, and Mark feels like all the air has been siphoned from the room.

               He knows there’s a sitting area at the back of the conservatory, velvet couches and plush pillows designed for hosting company, and he tugs Donghyuck backward until they’re collapsing on the embroidered cushions.

               Donghyuck is in his lap, cheeks flushed and eyes dark as pitch, and Mark pushes his hair back from his forehead with shaking hands. Donghyuck tilts his head back, rolls his hips downward against Mark’s, and lets out the most desperate moan Mark has ever heard. It’s fire in his chest, sparking to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he’s ridding Donghyuck of his uniform pants before he has a chance to catch his breath.

               And there are scars, pale white against his golden thighs, line after line as if someone had repeatedly cracked a whip against his skin. Mark’s entire body goes still and there’s a ringing in his ears.

_“I tried to get work as an apprentice to the blacksmith, but he was a violent man.”_

               Donghyuck looks down and flinches, and the sight makes Mark want to never let him go. “I’m sorry,” Donghyuck whispers. He turns his eyes away. “I suppose I’m not as beautiful as you were led to believe.”

               “Donghyuck.” Mark’s voice breaks as he trails his fingers over the silvery scars. “You’re exquisite in every way. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

               Donghyuck’s breath hitches. There’s a beat of silence as he stares at Mark, lashes impossibly long and pretty lips parted.

               “I mean it,” Mark breathes. He pushes Donghyuck down against the velvet cushions and presses his lips to his thighs, to each and every scar that Donghyuck didn’t deserve. Donghyuck gasps and digs his fingernails into Mark’s shoulders. “To see you like this is a privilege.”

               And Mark is sure that he doesn’t deserve this. As the night stretches inexorably forward, he doesn’t deserve Donghyuck writhing underneath him, pretty moans falling from his lips as he begs for _more, more, your highness, please._ He doesn’t deserve his mouth on Donghyuck’s sweat-slick skin, Donghyuck’s hands on him, Donghyuck’s gasps against his neck. He doesn’t deserve to watch Donghyuck fall apart, his fingers digging into crushed velvet with high cries and broken breaths. He doesn’t deserve to be the one who shatters Donghyuck into a thousand magnificent pieces.

               But if Mark is the only one capable of treating Donghyuck like a prince, he’ll gladly earn the privilege, no matter how long it takes.

              

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your support, you guys make me want to cry ;;;;;; your comments were so sweet and motivating, so i really really hope you liked this <3
> 
> also p.s. stan dreamcatcher and stream piri twice a day for clear skin !!!


End file.
